


Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

by LydiaD1988



Series: A Ballad of True Love [1]
Category: Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Love, Jealousy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 05:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15598986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaD1988/pseuds/LydiaD1988
Summary: What was he thinking? Alluring? How could he be thinking that about his little Lydia, who had had no shape to her when they had met for the first time? Who was awkward and sweet and funny and far too forgiving… She was still all those things, but now... she was beautiful. And sixteen.





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-post of a story I wrote many years ago, but it still hits me pretty hard every time I re-read it. It's very personal and special to me. Also FYI this is mostly TV-verse but I do put a little movie flavor in it from time to time.

Beetlejuice waited in Lydia's vanity mirror for her to come home from school.

He picked at his fingernails, finding all sorts of grime and mold inside - a tasty afternoon snack. He could see it was a stormy day in the world of the living - Lydia would be wet probably from her bike ride home. In fact, she may not come to her bedroom first to let him out before taking a shower and drying her hair.

The prospect made him feel like an abandoned puppy. He huffed in an irritated way, impatient to see her just as he always was. Her smile made him light up inside. Her words calmed him when he was angry. Her laugh made him laugh even more. To him, she was the world, and he was more than comfortable with that. After hundreds of years toying with the newly dead or haunting the living, he was grateful to have something else to do for a while. The whole afterlife scene had been getting so boring to him before he had met her.

Craning his neck over, he looked at the calendar. It was Monday. Damn. Five whole days of school before she could come to the Neitherworld and goof off with him. Now that she was sixteen, though, she often refused to go for whole days at a time, devoting herself to homework instead. What a disgusting prospect.

BJ didn't really like to think about what it would be like when Lydia hit college, or worse yet, when she got a regular job. Would she even bother to make time for him then? How much longer did he think this was going to last? When he looked at it like that, it was probably unhealthy to let his entire life hinge on her this much… but he couldn't help it. He couldn't help but drop everything and focus solely upon her. She had her own magic to her… her own grace, and it was intoxicating, he admitted. Her eyes captivated him like nothing else could.

"I'm back!" Lydia said cheerfully, entering her room. She was out of her uniform and there was a towel around her neck - a sure sign that his guess had been right. She had just gotten out of the shower. "That rain was brutal!"

"Babes! You're home!" he declared with gusto. "Quick quick quick, lemme out already!"

"You got it!" she chirped. "Knowing that I should be wary, still I venture someplace scary. Ghostly haunting I turn loose… Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

Instantly BJ popped out of the mirror and stretched happily, cracking his back multiple times. Lydia cringed, but giggled anyway. "Did you miss me?"

"Every second of every day, babes." he replied, ruffling her hair. "So what horrors are we studying today? Quick, let's get it done so you can come play."

"Beej, I can't go to the Neitherworld today. I have to write a history essay. It's going to take me all afternoon, probably."

"Essay schmessay. I'll write it for ya in five minutes!"

Lydia gave him a very deadpan stare. "It's about the hundred years war in France. What do you know about that?"

"Hm… that was about a hundred and fiftyish years before my time, give or take a decade…" he pondered. "Bah, just make something up already and let's go!"

She laughed at him, opening her laptop. "Sorry, BJ, that's a no go. I've got to do this. Why don't you watch TV or something while I work?"

"All right…" he said, defeated. He clicked her TV on and didn't even have to change the channel - it was already on the horror movie network.

While girls in 1960s hairdos screamed frantically at brains flopping around the floor in the background, Lydia called behind her shoulder.

"Aren't you going to ask about my day?"

"Oh yeah, what's going on at Miss Shannon's School for yuppies this week?"

Lydia smiled. "Some boys from another school are taking our classes with us. They'll be here all week, and then there's going to be a dance on Friday for everyone at both schools to attend. I think it's a publicity stunt to get more funds out of the community for education."

"Boys, huh? At an all girls school? So I don't have to go in drag this week?"

"I didn't think about that. I guess not. Too bad though, I'll miss Bettyjuice!"

BJ chortled at that. "I think I'll miss her too. What can I say, she's a real charmer!"

After a pause, Lydia continued. "There's a boy in my art class who is really nice."

The ghost's ears perked. His eyes squinted. "Really? Does that mean you want me to put a snake in his spaghetti? An eyeball in his pencil box? Scare him to death in the bathroom mirror?"

"No!" she said, indignant. "I mean he's nice, and I don't want you to do anything to him."

He shrugged. "Lemme know if you if you change your mind. I'll be more than happy to set the juice loose."

"I was just… telling you, is all." she explained sheepishly. "About my day."

There was a pregnant silence between them now that BJ couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it tension? Was she trying to tell him something without actually saying it, a thoroughly annoying habit girls had?

He shrugged it off and went on watching TV. He would be doing the same thing in the Neitherworld at this time of day, he knew, but just being close to her made all the difference. Their ability to be together without saying anything had developed even more in recent years, as there was hardly a secret they didn't share, or a subject they didn't discuss, and it was an eventuality that they run out of things to talk about. It was all so comfortable to him. He didn't want to think about it being any other way.


	2. Tuesday

Lydia sat outside her school, her knees to her chest, re-buckling her shoe before taking off on her bike ride. She had been so late coming home that Beetlejuice took it upon himself to find where she was using her bicycle's rear view mirror.

"Psst, yo babes!" he whispered. She startled a little and looked to her left, catching Beeltlejuice's eye as he winked. She giggled.

"Sorry I was so late heading home. Patrick asked me to stay and be part of the dance decoration committee. The meeting just ended."

"Patrick?" Beetlejuice scowled. He felt a twinge of something that felt like annoyance in his gut, but ignored it as best he could. What reason did he have to feel annoyed? "So the nice kid has a name now?"

"Well, yes." she announced proudly, as if defending herself. "The dance theme is moonlight in the forest. Sounds deadly vu, doesn't it?"

"Pfft. For a stupid school dance." he retorted. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"Why shouldn't I care? It's my school. I should be more involved."

"Yeah, but Lydz… " he said with an apologetic grin. "You're aesthetic doesn't exactly mesh with the majority of the yuppies. You've always had that problem. You'll just get laughed at again, and you're the one who comes to me upset when that happens."

"Why are you being so… unsupportive?" she huffed. "You're always the one that tells me when I'm upset not to listen to them! To keep trying! To not be anything less than myself. Why is this time any different?"

He looked away from her, shrugging. "I dunno, I just…"

"You just what?"

Beetlejuice was about to spew a nonsensical answer at her when her glance was taken up by a boy in the distance, calling her name and waiving to her. She waived back enthusiastically. BJ's frown turned into a deep scowl.

Who the hell was this kid? Why was he getting all of Lydia's attention? What else was appealing about him besides him being… nice?

"So you guys are… friends now, or something?" he prodded, almost in a pleading tone.

"Yeah, I guess we're friends." she said. Her smile was small, shy… girlish. It made Beetlejuice uncomfortable all over.

"You probably have homework to do, I'll catch you later." he said abruptly. Her head jerked to him, eyes wide.

"Really? Oh, okay, yeah, it's probably better. …Call me later?"

Her question was sweet - it made him grin. "You better believe it, babes."

After he disappeared from her mirror, he stretched and decided to take a nap at the roadhouse. His mood was a bit… dark, if he had to give it a word, and all it wanted to do was brood, so sleep was the only escape he could think of. By the time he woke up, it was around seven o'clock Lydia's time, so quickly he dashed to his bedroom mirror, using his juice to see into her bedroom.

There was a note propped up on her Count Dracula alarm clock.

"Having dinner with Mom and Dad, I'll call you when I get back. - Lydz"

He drooped sadly and went to the kitchen for a snack. The roadhouse was quiet - Jacques was probably at the gym and Ginger was probably at a dance class.

He was lonely and bored. Even the tv wasn't very captivating. And what was worse, hours went by and she hadn't called him. It was eleven p.m. and she was probably in bed.

His curiosity peaked, he went back to his mirror and looked for her. There she was, sound asleep, in a baggy black t-shirt. Her hair was very pretty at the moment - arranged in waves on the pillow. Again something in his gut ached - it wasn't annoyance this time, or brooding. It was something… he didn't care to acknowledge.

He sighed and went to bed himself.


	3. Wednesday

Lydia went to her balcony immediately upon arriving home. She didn't look at her vanity mirror, which surprised Beetlejuice.

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" he cried, smushing his palms and face against the glass. She didn't hear him - her easel had been moved out to the balcony after her mother's cat had knocked over a large group of paint jars and Delia had not been too pleased with the new look of her expensive carpet.

There was tarp on the balcony outside - enough protection from wayward drips that might come splashing down to the first floor balcony just below.

Lydia sat down, hastily tying her smock around her, and started painting a portrait on a blank canvas. She sketched the figure out wildly, making it a profile of Victorian style. The figure transformed quickly into a male, wearing a cravat with a pearl stick pin and a high collared jacket.

There was a small hand mirror in Lydia's purse. He transferred his image to that, which was closer to the balcony.

"Hey! Lydz, come on now! Don't ignore the B-man!"

She sat up suddenly, hearing his voice for the first time. She turned with an apologetic expression. "I'm so sorry, Beej! I was just inspired, and lost track of everything…"

He waived his hand in dismissal of the whole thing, her eyes buying her forgiveness instantly. "Don't worry about it, babes. I didn't call you last night, after all."

"Well, I left that note saying that I would call…" she explained, lifting the hand mirror and cupping it in both hands. "I was so tired."

"You flimsy fleshy types gotta get sleep." he said with a grin.

What was it that they were doing? It sounded more like a conversation after a fight than an apology between friends. Why were they so quick to gain the other's favor? Why did it all seem so strange?

She was staring at him, for a long while, just holding the mirror. Her eyes gazed at him so brightly. She was thinking about something - he just didn't know what.

He cleared his throat quickly. "Uh, babes? Are you gonna have me over?"

"Oh, of course. Right! Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

BJ popped out next to the bed and threw his arm around Lydia, leading her out to the balcony.

"So what is it you're so struck with, huh? Can I see?"

She blushed suddenly. Blushed?

"It's not done yet," he said quietly. "I'd rather you wait."

"Ah, come on now. You know what a great art critic I am."

"More like what a great art critic you're not."

"Bah, I know art when I see it."

"Well so far you've only declared my art as art."

"Exactly!"

They laughed together until BJ saw the painting up close. It was obvious to him that the likeness was of himself, surprisingly. But alive, his hair combed back in a ponytail, a wicked, seductive grin planted on his face. Next to it she had already begun sketching a portrait of herself in a white lace Victorian gown, high necked, with her hair piled high behind her with three curls spilling over her shoulder. Her smile was innocent, but knowing.

"Patrick said I should do two paintings to go at the entrance to the dance hall." she said. "Depicting our fictional hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Brookhaven. He said I should imagine my idea of a perfect, Victorian couple. In love and completely devoted to each other. … Do you like it?"

The question was very low, almost inaudible. BJ grinned, shaking the whole thing off, not understanding what was going on with her, but too… scared… to really answer the question.

"Kinda looks like me, don't it?" he said in a goofy way, straightening his posture and slicking his hair back. With a saucy British dialect, he added, "rather dashing, am I not?"

She laughed. "I can't help it if it looks like you, you're the only reference for a face I see all the time. …When I draw a man, you're the first thing that comes to my mind."

"Guess that makes sense. I'm just too unforgettable, babes."

"You got that right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Patrick is making a big invitation from the Brookhavens to hang in the hall, written in calligraphy. He's working really hard on it, using old English. The theatre lighting guys are hanging small lights all around the hall from black cord, so it will look like stars in the sky. There's going to be spooky trees and fog, and black flower patches all around."

She looked so happy talking about it that BJ smiled himself just from her enthusiasm.

"It's going to be so beautiful, but so elegant at the same time. No campy Halloween decorations… it's going to be a very adult party."

"Adult? You guys are just sixteen. Besides, campy Halloween decorations never go outta style!" he protested. She merely frowned at him in a playful way.

"Sixteen is closer to being an adult than you think." she chided.

"Sixteen couldn't be farther away from being an adult. Not even eighteen is adult. Hell, I'm six hundred, and I'm still not an adult!"

"That's what I love about you." she grinned. "You'll never get boring."

He resorted back to the British dialect, materializing a cane and putting his hand to his lapel. "Perish the thought, my dear." he said. "Why, the mere idea is insulting. En guarde!"

He grabbed her and tickled her, and she wailed in protest and laughter. Her paint brush had fallen to the floor - she didn't seem to care. While she struggled, Beetlejuice felt her slight waist and delicate arms under his fingers; it made him swallow hard and take a step back. The mood had changed so quickly that, although Lydia had been grateful for the tickling to stop, she looked at him curiously.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." he said, shrugging it off. "I'll let you get back to it. Call me later."

She nodded, studying him. "I will." she finally said. "Later!"


	4. Thursday

Lydia had not called him as she said she would. Instead BJ had lounged around on the couch, drinking beer (not something he did often, but the mood had struck him), until he had passed out. Jacques, observing his sour mood, had invited him out for dinner, but he declined. As much as he liked free food, nothing much had sparked his interest.

In the morning he shook himself off and stretched. Upon seeing what time it was, he blanched - 10:30 - Lydia had already left for school - so he dashed for his mirror and waived his hand in front of it. Lydia appeared in her painting class, giggling and laughing with that Patrick kid…

"Gawd…" he groaned. Could that kid be any more insipient? There he was, oozing charm and making her laugh while she worked on the paintings she had started the day before. They were close to being done - she was simply adding a smoky aura around her fictitious lovers. Bristling, he decided to slither into a random mirror in the classroom and listen in.

"Do you like them?" Lydia said to Patrick. He was giving her that look - Beetlejuice knew it well. It was just as he suspected - he did not just want Lydia's friendship.

"I think he should have black hair." Patrick answered. His own hair was jet black. Beetlejuice stuck out his tongue in utter disgust. "He'll match her better. And he should be younger looking, don't you think?"

She was looking at him, trying to read his expression. Her smile was one of mischief, of interest… of flirting.

Flirting? Lydia? His Lydia?

What was happening?

"I'll think about it." she answered him. Her tone was teasing… impish. Maddening.

"What is this, the friggin' twilight zone?" he muttered to himself. Wasn't Lydia just twelve years old yesterday? And this guy was clearly not her type, anyway! He was a douche bag, if there ever was one! Look at that lovesick, puppy dog smile, his swarthy hand gestures, his… his…

"You're so nice, Patrick. I really like spending time with you."

Ugh!

He couldn't take this anymore. He rushed back to his own bedroom and cringed, fleeing into the living room.

"Beatlejuice, what is wrong?" Jacques called, making himself a smoothie in the kitchen. "You look a leetle on zhe green side, mon ami!"

"Just… hand me a beer from the fridge, will ya?" BJ groaned, flopping down on the couch.

"But you are going to see Lydia today, are you not?" he protested. "She does not like eet when you have been drinking."

Beetlejuice did not answer. He snatched the beer from Jacques' hand and tuned his brain out, content to stay on the couch for the rest of the day. Jacques sighed and let him be.


	5. Friday

The next day, Beetlejuice promised himself that he'd make an effort. Dating was, after all, a natural course Lydia's life was going to take… and that didn't mean they couldn't still be best friends. Right?

Of course right. He straightened his tie and awaited her in the vanity mirror.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!" Lydia proclaimed happily, running in. Hugging her books to her chest, she dove and fell on her bed, grinning from ear to ear. "I got asked out on a date!"

BJ appeared floating just above the floor, crossing his legs and leaning back with his arms folded to support his head. "A date, huh?" His face soured. "Bah, who needs that's stuff?"

He realized only after he had said the words that he meant it more as a question to her than anything else. Was all of this real? Did she really want to… go out with someone? Did he really need to ask if that was the case, when he could plainly see how happy she was?

"It's true, I don't really know him very well." she confessed, sitting up. "But… well, you know I've always had a hard time fitting in, BJ. I just feel like this is maybe the start of something. That maybe I'll find my way after all." She laughed at herself, heading into the closet. "What am I going to wear?"

Lydia's small smiles further clouded Beetlejuice's mood. He suddenly felt angry - angry beyond anything he had felt in years. He juiced himself into the closet, just in time to see Lydia smiling at herself in her full length mirror, holding up two different dresses to herself. There was a large pile of discarded dresses on the floor.

"I think it's between these two." she said. One was a black heart-shaped neckline dress that she had made herself. The other was a red and black dress she had bought in the Neitherworld. Beetlejuice had been there when she had bought it. It was a little more modest than the other one, but still… alluring.

What the hell was he thinking? Alluring? How could he be thinking that about his little Lydia, who had had no shape to her when they had met for the first time? Who was awkward and sweet and funny and far too forgiving…

She was all those things now, but now… she was beautiful. He admitted it, slack jawed and silent in front of her. The way her breasts swelled under her milky skin and black chiffon blouse… the way the hemline of her skirt just brushed her mid-thigh, hiding where the curve up to her hips would be starting. Voluptuous, mouth watering… perfect. And sixteen.

"Which one do you like better?" she asked shyly. Shyly? She had never acted so… coy in front of him before. Maybe, on a subconscious level at least, she was noticing how he was staring at her? Maybe, somewhere between all these years they had been friends, she had noticed what men look like when they desire a woman? When could that have possibly happened?

Before he could stop himself, some animal part of his brain decided to vent by being flirtatious - something he had never dared to be with her before. It was the only thing he could think to do. Otherwise he was afraid he'd yell at her for no reason.

"Better ask a chick that question, sweet cheeks. To a man, you're gonna look like pure temptation in whatever you got on."

Then he turned himself into a scraggly looking wolf, howling at the moon. She paused for a minute, as if deciding what to do. Was she blushing again?

She laughed then, her usual laugh when he told his piss poor jokes. So, she was going to treat it like that, was she?

Wait a minute… what was he thinking? How could he even think that she knew what she was doing right now, and was being as seductive on purpose as a grown woman? What look in her eye was telling, what gesture was giving her away that she knew perfectly well what flirting was, knew that she was desirable to him. For all he really knew, she still had the mentality of a twelve year old.

Or maybe… she did know, but she didn't know how to react. Maybe she was just as scared as he was. He had been with her nearly every waking moment of her life for four years… but could she have been giggling with her school friends in between those times, talking about boys and crushes and dates? When she had been lying in her bed at night, alone, had she ever… touched…

"The black and red one." he blurted out, interrupting his thoughts as quickly as he could. He was blushing now, and before while he had been pondering, a few long moments had passed just staring at one another, silent. Only when he came back to himself had he realized how awkward it all was. He had been in her closet a thousand times, had helped her pick out clothes… but for the first time ever it was all awkward.

It was then that he let his temper get a hold of him. With a frown, he juiced out of the closet and back to the bedroom so she could change. "So who is the guy who asked you out, anyway?" he called through the door. "Some punk with dyed purple hair and a nose ring?"

"No," she said with an edge to it. It was her turn to get irritated now. "It's Patrick. The boy I told you about. He asked me to the dance tonight!"

He could hear the tiniest noises from within - the zipper of her skirt unfastening, her feet lifting and allowing her to change her stockings. She was into vintage, his Lydia… she liked to wear thigh highs with a garter belt if she had to wear hose, and most days she had to for the sake of school dress code. He had seen her garter belts lying on the floor of the closet before, but now he subconsciously licked his lips while he thought of her buttoning each stocking to the garter…

What was he doing? What was he thinking? He felt like a primate suddenly, driving only by urges he couldn't control. No modesty or morality could stop him now. The only regret he could stifle out only came in the form of a question.

Why are you doing this, man?

When she emerged, she was breathtaking. The skirt was tapered and raggedy on purpose at the bottom, ballooned outwards to accentuate her hips, then laced at her waist like a bodice up the back. The stockings she had chosen had black seams. She looked like a beautiful, dark ballerina, or a tight rope walker at the Neitherworld circus. Come to think of it, he had never taken her there…

"I've got to get ready early and head over to help them decorate." she announced. Happily she plopped down in front of her vanity mirror and started redoing her makeup for the evening. He watched her in silence put her lipstick on - a very, very dark shade of crimson. The way she held it up to her lips, pursing them, was driving him to madness. The curve of her breast underneath her arm as she leaned it forward, putting her elbow on the table. Her amazing hips lifting in the air off the stool. Her full eyelashes blinking slowly next to her hand.

When she let her hair down and started brushing it out, he absentmindedly floated over to her, holding out his hand. She gave him the brush, just like she had a thousand times before - he liked to help her get ready - but she was a little more reluctant this time.

Her soft, full waves against his hand were like silk. She only allowed him a few strokes before taking the brush from him - only after it was gone had he realized how slow he had been going with it - how much he had been taking his time and feeling her hair. Gently he put his hands on her shoulders, his fingers nervously twitching against her skin.

"Babes, I got an idea." he choked out. She did not look up at him in the mirror as she put up her hair in pins, but muttered a "hm" of curiosity, letting him know she was listening.

"You look so great tonight, let me take you to the Neitherworld Circus. I'll get us box seats. It'll be great. Popcorn, sodas, the works. Forget about the date. What'dya say, come on!"

She turned around to him now, her eyes sympathetic. He knew what was going on now. He could sense it. He was losing her at last.

Had he ever even doubted that this moment wouldn't come? It has crossed his mind a few times, especially when she had hit fourteen and fifteen, gently asking him if he would come back in an hour or two so she could have alone time. It hadn't bothered him - every young… lady… needs time like that, especially away from the prying eyes of a dirty, 600-year-old man.

"Beetlejuice," she said. Just the way she said it made him feel like dying all over again. "I've got to do this. I've got to go on dates like a normal girl my age. And… more than that… I want to go. I want to feel… desired."

Desired? What did that mean? What kind of wild, sexual thoughts was she battling with, and was afraid to tell him? Or did she simply want to be desired in an innocent way… her company, her hand in someone else's, going to the movies, to the fair…

Something told him from the way she was dressing tonight she meant the former.

"Well, you're certainly gonna get a lot of that. More than you can handle."

Her nose wrinkled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He paced away from her, his anger mounting. "Exactly what you think it means. You're too young to be doing this kind of crap, babes - "

"Stop calling me that. I am not a child, you don't need to be calling me a pet name that sounds like it's for a lover."

"Who-ho-ho!" he cackled. "The claws come out, huh? Well if its not me, Lydia, it'll be some other piece of shit guy, who only wants one thing from you. Do you get that, sweet cheeks?"

"Well maybe I want to try… that!" she called, blushing and letting her voice decrease to a hush as she said the last word. "Maybe I'm ready to explore my horizons."

"You don't understand what you saying!" he screamed. "I'm begging with you, kid, don't throw yourself away just because you're curious!"

"I am not a kid!"

"You're 16! I'm 600! I think that makes you a kid, and you should listen to what I'm telling you, Lydz! I know you, and I know you're going to regret it!"

"It's my life and I will do what I please with it, thank you." she said cooly, grabbing her purse and her wrap. "What right have you to be telling me what to do, anyway? You've never… helped me. Talked to me about these things. No one bothers to tell me anything, not even my parents!"

That silenced Beetlejuice immediately. He swallowed hard. "I… didn't know…" he whispered. "that you wanted to talk about it."

"Now that I find very hard to believe." she hissed. Her feet slid into her red pumps and she slammed the door after her.

"Be careful!" he called out after her, surprised at the desperation in his own voice. The forlorn timbre was almost palpable.

He reached for the door, but it was too late. A knot lodged itself in his chest - a knot of fear, of loathing, of confusion.

"The hell was that?" he said, sinking on to her bed. What had she meant by that? Had she been giving him… hints… all along? Had she been trying to breach a sensitive subject, and never could because all he was ever concerned about was clowning around?

Images of her flashed in his mind from the last four years. Some of them telling - some of them shy.

"What do you think about boys my age, Beetlejuice?"

"Should I wear my hair like this, or like this? Does it make my face prettier?"

"How do I look in this? Do you think… boys would like it?"

She had been trying to reach out, hadn't she? This whole time.

"Damn it!" he shouted. He banged his fist on the bedspread. Why hadn't he been paying attention? Why had he been such a shitty friend to her? All this time he just thought she was more focused on her art, and school… and as true as that might have been, she had still been curious. Asking questions. Toeing the waterline.

"I'm an asshole!" he shouted at the same volume, clawing his face. With a flick of his finger he was at Miss Shannon's School for Girls, lodging himself deeply in the disco ball up above the dance hall. Lydia was just below, talking to the loser squad Bertha and Prudence… Prudence had grown into something half way cute, but Bertha was still puberty's worst nightmare. He shuttered at the sight of her, but contented himself to watching Lydia.

If she was going on a date, totally blind, he'd need to look out for her. If this creep Patrick tried anything…

"I'll tear him to shreds." he growled aloud.

After about an hour and a half, the crowd starting pouring in and the band was warming up. Fog was seeping in from the sides of the room - a nice effect juxtaposed against the withered tree backdrops. BJ smiled a little.

At last the accursed Patrick entered the scene. Lydia's eyes lit up brightly - she was talking to him so animatedly, and he was definitely enjoying the conversation too. They got some snacks and started to dance together. Occasionally they would laugh about something, or sit and rest for a minute so Lydia could remove her shoes (those pumps had never been very good walking shoes, they were more like torture chambers for feet). When they would laugh BJ would bristle like a porcupine. What were they laughing about? Why was she smiling at him so much, anyway? Did he have any idea how special she was?

A few hours passed, and a slow dance started. Sorrowfully, BJ floated down, invisible, and lodged himself in the crystal punch bowl. He could see Lydia smile as she put her head on his shoulder. His hand was at the lower part of her waist, rubbing lazily. Another second of watching would have caused him to explode out of the punch bowl and haunt the room in a blaze of color and anger, but suddenly, a switch was flipped in him, and he no longer felt angry. He was glad for her. Glad that this had worked out the way she wanted. And Patrick had been a gentleman, mostly. Getting her punch and helping her up from her chair, that kind of chivalrous nonsense. In the end though, he seemed to really… like her. BJ was only angry at himself, and ashamed.

Closing his eyes, he juiced himself back to the roadhouse. Lying down in the dark, still in his clothes, he was perfectly still, thinking. His heart ached, as if it had been torn from him. But he was happy. For her.


	6. After Midnight

The sudden sound of bawling in his room caused Beetlejuice to startle awake. He leapt upwards, breathing hard, seeing Lydia with her head on her vanity table and her hand reaching up to touch the glass of the mirror. Her shoulders were shaking with her deep sobs - it alarmed him beyond anything else she could have done to see her cry. He touched the glass where her hand was, trying immediately to soothe her.

"Lydia, hey… I'm here. It's okay, babes. I'm here. Talk to me. Just stop cryin', alright?"

She didn't react, at least not directly. Her tiny hand curled into a fist and hit the mirror. The blow was devoid of all force or effort, so the mirror made more of a ringing sound as it vibrated, like a bell.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice…" she whispered, shaking, her voice raspy in her agony. She said his name one more time, but it was so quiet he barely heard it. It didn't even seem she realized that she had spoken at all. When she lifted her head, he saw her mascara was pouring deep rivers down her cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes were pitch black. There was no life in her gaze. As she looked in the mirror, dull and lifeless, she didn't see him staring back at her. She looked right through him.

BJ swallowed, kneading his hands in his nervousness. After she had dragged herself like a zombie away from her stool, he allowed himself to quietly float through the mirror, keeping his presence unannounced. He didn't know what to say to her, now that he had seen that dead stare in her eyes. He was shocked into silence.

The closet door slammed shut. He waited outside, pacing, biting his lip. A few agonizing moments went by, so long that they each seemed an eternity unto themselves, before he started to hear quiet sobs. These were small, vulnerable… a little girl's sobs, a tiny intake of desperate breath after each one. He ran his fingers through his grimy hair, taking it in fistfuls and pulling out of frustration. He wanted to scream at her - to demand she tell him what was wrong. Had something happened at the dance? Was she hurt?

At last he couldn't take it anymore. He growled and opened the door, Lydia's small voice gasping in shock. She quickly covered herself - she had been in the middle of undressing. What had been a beautiful tower of strength and light at the beginning of the evening was reduced now to a crumpled mess on the carpeted floor. One shoe was off, her dress was unzipped and was barely covering her breasts. Her cheeks flared in embarrassment, as did Beetlejuice's. No rapier whit came to his aid now. No joke to cover up a bad situation. He couldn't do it. She had rendered him powerless.

"I-I'm sorry." he stuttered, frozen. But he didn't shut the door. Something in him couldn't bear to erect that wall between them, when he wanted so much to be near her.

"Please." She hissed severely. Only then did he feel his hand gripped around the door knob, and remembered how to move again.

The door creaked shut with a finality to it that only increased Beetlejuice's unease. There was a tension crackling the air all throughout the room - he felt it just as sure as he felt the presence of other ghosts. She would let him know, soon enough, what the problem was. She was going to say things that wouldn't be able to be unsaid. There would be a storm of rage in her that would swallow him whole. He knew her well enough to know these things. It would come after her tears had subsided, like a protector, so even he would be driven away.

After another minute she emerged in a black silk robe she often wore to bed, but she wore no pajamas underneath it. It hung loose and somewhat open around her torso, sultry and tempting. His eyes darted down to her mostly-covered chest before they went back to her face. She had attempted to wipe some of the mascara off, but her hair was a frizzled mess. She still looked like the heartbreak incarnate that he knew she was.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she asked him, plain and straight forward. Her manner took him aback. He didn't know what the right answer was.

Luckily in the midst of his slack jawed stuttering, she continued. "Patrick said I was. He came close to me. We kissed. I wasn't any good at it."

The more she talked, the heavier she breathed, and the more upset she became. The tears were coming again. Each time one fell from her thick eyelashes, his heart ached like a knife had just run through it.

"I wanted to, but it started to feel wrong. It was all wrong. The wrong lips. The wrong hands. Then he tried to… touch me. I didn't want that. I wasn't ready. I… didn't want him!"

"Babes…" he croaked. She ran to him and he hugged her. Her little fingers dug into his back. They had never embraced like this, like two raw hearts tangled in one other's tendrils.

"I'll kill him." he said, his mouth buried mostly in her thick hair. She shook her head.

"No, it wasn't his fault. We both thought we… liked each other. But then I knew he wasn't right, and it felt so… dirty. I feel dirty all over."

"Well, I got you now," he swallowed. "It's gonna be okay."

Comforting teenage girls was never something he had considered his forte, but she was melting in his arms, every muscle relaxing in its own time. As his hands raked calmly through her hair, her breathing grew more steady. He felt her chest rise and fall against him.

"That's the only way it'll ever be okay." she finally said. It puzzled him even more.

"What'd'you mean?"

"Beetlejuice. Look at me."

She raised her head off his chest and looked at him, fire blazing in her eyes. That fire made him falter - made him question himself. Who he was. What he was. Was he anything past what she thought him to be? Did he want to be anything else ever again?

Her eyes glazed over with tears. The words were just about to come out - he could feel it. He was afraid.

"Kiss me." she said.

Instinct immediately took over, though her words had instantly created a knot in his stomach so large it made him queasy. He tried to ignore it as he pulled away from her. "Lydz, no. …No."

"Why not?" she cried, her voice growing to a shrill. "What's wrong with me? Don't you have feelings… for me… like I do for you?"

He stumbled back even more, blanching. The knot in his stomach threatened to make him fall to his knees right then and there. "You don't know what you're saying, Lydz. You have no idea. You're just confused -"

"I am not confused!" Shouting now, back to hysterics. She was stripping him of all thought, all need, just with those desperate black eyes. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life! All I wanted was you when his lips touched mine. I didn't want anyone else's hands on me… but yours!"

"This is my fault." he finally said back, quietly. "I should never have stuck around as long as I did. I was being selfish. I should have left years ago!"

"And why didn't you? Is it because you love me?"

"I… can't! Don't you get it, Lydz? I can't do that to you."

His hands fell lifelessly to his sides in defeat. Lydia scanned him with those eyes again, making his heart ache even more.

"Is it because I'm alive, and you're dead?" she asked, coming towards him and putting her hands on his chest. Without any protest he wrapped his arms around her, as if it were second nature. He hung his head, refusing to look at her.

"It's more than that."

"Is it because you think I deserve better? Well I don't want anyone else. I want you."

"Lydz… I… "

"Teach me how to love you." she whispered, placing his hand on her hip. "Teach me. I want to learn with you. Only you."

His throat was completely dry, but he managed to squeeze out, "I'd never, ever do that to you. Not to you. There are some lines even I won't cross."

Her sympathy quickly grew to cold anger as she turned viciously away from him. "Don't act so noble." she hissed. "I know what you're doing when I call you in the mirror, and you don't come right away. Or Jacques says you're out for the night and won't say where you went. Why would you prefer a complete stranger to me, a woman who loves you!"

"You aren't a woman!" he yelled. "If you were, you'd know there's no happy ending to this, babes. Someday, you're gonna want kids, a family…"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANY OF IT! I have a right to choose who I love, and with that I accept the consequences, good or bad!"

"You're not gonna say that twenty years from now!"

"…Yes, I will. You know me." she pleaded. "You know I mean what I say. I won't… I can't love anyone but you."

She fell once again back into his arms, and in his numbness, his instincts took over, and he kissed her. Softly at first, and then with deep longing… aggression, want, need, filling every corner of his mind. Forgetting completely her inexperience, he stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, but she opened her mouth for him naturally in response, as if they had both been made for this. This one moment.

Desperately he groaned into her, and her whimpering noises underneath him sent sparks through his brain. He couldn't process any longer - just couldn't - not with her grinding against his hips like that, coiling around his body like a snake. He no longer existed. All his thoughts were being swallowed by pure sensation. Soon he confused her hands with his own, her hair with his. There weren't two bodies. Only one.

They fell back on her comforter, pillowed comfortably by the down. Immediately his hand tore open her robe, exposing her beautiful, full breasts for the first time. His heart caught in his throat at the sight of them. Pale skin - soft, pink nipples, so delicate. He felt her tense with a little gasp underneath him, but then her face flushed a burning red. Gently she guided his hand to cup her left breast, and the sensation left her winded. She threw her head back, enflamed by it all. Her skin burned. A moan escaped her crimson lips.

Feeling his own breath fail him, he began to knead her flesh, watching the way it responded to him. His other hand crawled under the hem of her robe, pinching her pelvic bone. Another unbridled moan came from her, driving him practically to madness. He had dreamed of this all along, he realized. He had longed so badly to make her give him these little gifts of sound… had always wanted to give her the pleasure she deserved.

Again he seized her mouth, running his palm down her stomach, further and further. His fingertips were just barely grazing her intimate hair when he stopped. He stared at her face, twisted in pleasure and delight, until it transformed, furrowed with concern. She put her hand on his face.

"What is it?" she begged. "Tell me what's wrong. Please!"

"I won't." he answered plainly. "I won't."

He quickly rose from the bed and straightened out his jacket. A moment of silence that could have stretched across the widest deserts followed.

"We can't be friends anymore, can we?" she asked.

"Until you stop feeling this way… no." he replied.

"So… this is goodbye."

The finality in her voice made him feel as if he were suffocating. He cleared his throat as best he could and went on. "We always knew this day would come, babes. We just didn't want to think about it."

"I love you." she choked out. It had been more of a question than a statement - she was begging him to say it back to her. And he couldn't. He loved her too much to say it. If he did, she'd never have a life of her own… a life she deserved, without the dead.

"Goodbye, Lydia Deetz." he answered. And then he vanished.

Lydia collapsed into the pillows and cried.


	7. Dawn

An orange sun peeked over the hills in the Neitherworld. Covered in dirt, Beetlejuice sat on a mound next to a shovel. A hole six feet deep was in front of him. He took one last sip of his beer before throwing it off the edge of the yard into the void below.

Hopping in the hole carelessly, he curled up into a ball and juiced the shovel to start covering him. The dirt felt cold over his body, but soon he got used to it.

She was the thing he had kept him going. Visiting her had been his only real pleasure. Six hundred years had been nothing but tedious repetition, despite his attempts to liven things up in his world. And now there was no world without Lydia in it.

Before he allowed himself to be still, his last image was of her face, smiling at him. He chose to freeze that thought in time - to pretend everything was fine, and he was only taking a short nap while she went on vacation or some such thing. He wanted to ignore the truth - that he intended never to wake up again, so he went still with his heart happy, and yet broken at the same time.

In the world of the living, the yellow sun climbed higher in the sky as Lydia threw a lighted match onto two canvases in the backyard. She slowly watched the portraits she had done for the dance burn. Particularly she watched each feature of the one of Beetlejuice in living form crumple under the flame. It did nothing for her heart, but at least she had no more tears left to cry. Her body had been rung dry head to toe.

Maybe they had both been wrong, she considered - him for thinking she wasn't ready at all and her thinking that she was completely. Maybe this was for the best, she tried to think as a comfort to herself.

There were many maybes in her world right now, but at least there was one thing that she could say with certainty, with no maybe in the sentence. When they had first met, Beetlejuice would have done anything to anyone to get his way, to get ahead of the game somehow. And she was the one person he couldn't have done that to. His conscience had put such a firm roadblock there it had prevented him from even entertaining what he wanted ahead of what was best for her. Even now she was the only person he ever treated that way.

That was proof enough for her. Even though he hadn't said it aloud, he loved her, and always would. She would remember that most of all.


End file.
